THE VISIONARY
Silent is the house: all are
laid asleep:
One alone looks out o'er
the snow-wreaths deep,
Watching every cloud, dreading
every breeze
That whirls the wildering
drift, and bends the groaning trees.
Cheerful is the hearth, soft
the matted floor;
Not one shivering gust creeps
through pane or door;
The little lamp burns straight,
its rays shoot strong and far:
I trim it well, to be the
wanderer's guiding-star.
Frown, my haughty sire! chide,
my angry dame!
Set your slaves to spy;
threaten me with shame:
But neither sire nor dame,
nor prying serf shall know,
What angel nightly tracks
that waste of frozen snow.
What I love shall come like
visitant of air,
Safe in secret power from
lurking human snare;
What loves me, no word of
mine shall e'er betray,
Though for faith unstained
my life must forfeit pay
Burn, then, little lamp;
glimmer straight and clear--
Hush! a rustling wing stirs,
methinks, the air:
He for whom I wait, thus
ever comes to me;
Strange Power! I trust thy
might; trust thou my constancy. |
